Call of the Sea
by Tangerine Forget-Me-Not
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a 23-year-old marine biologist who is offered a position in an expedition to find and capture selkies. Alfred doesn't believe in mythological seal-people, but the pay is good enough that he can overlook that. However, he quickly learns that the sea holds many secrets, and that some legends have more than just a grain of truth in them...
1. Seal the Deal

It was a warm June afternoon when Alfred Jones stepped into the crumbling warehouse. The clammy air smelled of salt and rotting seaweed, and sent shivers crawling down his spine. He paused in the doorway, running a hand through his blonde hair, his bright blue eyes taking in the scene from behind a pair of glasses. He had come here to meet Captain James McAllister, the old seadog who ran a fishing company at Cape Cod. Everyone who knew the captain all agreed on one thing: he might be the smartest, most skilled fisherman around, but that didn't cover up the fact that he was crazy—plain, flat-out crazy. Alfred wasn't quite sure what that entailed, but he hoped it wasn't it didn't mean that agreeing to meet the captain was a mistake.

Alfred had first met Captain McAllister four months ago at the Cape. Alfred, who was on a school break at the time, had gone there to meet up with a few friends. The group had stopped at a bakery, and had begun to talk about their studies.

When Alfred had started telling them about his adventures as a student marine biologist, he had felt someone tap on his shoulder. He'd turned around to see an old man staring at him intently. The man had thinning grey hair and a beard to match, and wore a weathered navy blue trench coat over a black wool shirt, and dark, salt-stained pants. The man had introduced himself in a voiced heavily accented with an Irish lilt, then had sat down in Alex and his friends' booth and began firing questions at him one after another: what's your name, what school do you go to, how long have you been studying marine biology, etc. Once Alfred had answered all his questions, Captain McAllister had handed him a business card and offered him a temporary position in his crew for a "special expedition regarding certain sea life". Alfred had accepted, and now he was here, at the place he had been told to meet with the captain to discuss the expedition in further detail.

"Are you coming in, or are you just here to test the doorframe?" came a voice from within the warehouse, making him nearly jump out of his skin.

"Yes, sorry. I'm coming in," he said quickly. He took a deep breath, and slowly walked in. The warehouse was filled with rusty nautical equipment, empty beer bottles and other miscellaneous junk piled up over the place. The warehouse was lit with the flickering yellow glow of six bare lightbulbs that hung down from the ceiling. At the far end of the room stood an ancient wooden desk, around which sat five chairs. Four of them were already occupied.

Alfred strode over to the small group, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. As he neared them, one figure stood up—a man, a few inches shorter than Alfred, with snowy white hair and strange red eyes. He appeared to be no older than twenty.

"Hi!" he said cheerfully, holding out his hand. "My name's Gilbert Beilschmidt. I'm the head engineer. I've been working here since I was sixteen."

Alfred reached out to shake his hand, when Gilbert grabbed it and shook it so hard he almost yanked it right off his shoulder.

"That's enough, Gilbert!" came another voice, this one carrying a strong Irish accent. "You don't need to pull his arm off."

"Sorry," said Gilbert sheepishly, releasing Alfred's hand. It flopped to his side limply, drawing a laugh from the others.

"Nice job," said the man. "You just broke our only marine biologist."

"I said I'm sorry!"

"Whatever." The other stood up, revealing an aging man with salt-and-pepper hair and sun-roughed skin. "My name is Cameron. I'm the first mate of our crew. I've been working with Captain McAllister for twenty-seven years. If you have any questions about our excursion while we're at sea, feel free to ask myself or any members of the crew, including Mister Jackson O'Neal," he said, gesturing to a bald, middle-aged man who was sitting on a stack of plastic crates. "He's the cook of our fine establishment."

The cook nodded in greeting. Alfred nodded back, though he was unsure if that was the proper way to greet a cook.

"And I believe you've met Captain McAllister," said Cameron, turning to the figure sitting behind the desk. The man in question stood up, and everyone immediately snapped to attention, delivering a crisp salute to the captain—everyone but Alfred, that is.

"At ease," said the captain, then turned his attention to Alfred.

"Mister Alfred Jones," rumbled Captain McAllister, fixing his piercing gaze on Alfred. "How nice of you to join us. We were beginning to think you weren't coming."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Alfred said. "There was, uh, really bad traffic—"

"Do not speak unless spoken to," said the captain icily. "And when you speak to me, you will address me as 'sir' or 'Captain'. Is that clear, Jones?"

"Y-yes sir," Alfred stammered, shrinking back slightly.

"Good." Captain McAllister turned his attention to the others. "You three are dismissed."

Gilbert, Cameron, and Jackson all saluted and walked stiffly out of the warehouse. Alfred noticed that they were walking slightly faster than necessary.

"You may sit," said the captain, gesturing to the seat that had remained empty. Alfred sat down quickly, not wanting to do anything that would upset the captain, especially now that they were alone.

"Now then," Captain McAllister started, pulling a file and a pen out of his desk, "Your name is Alfred Frederick Jones, correct?"

"Yes sir," said Alfred, wondering to himself why he needed to be asked about his own name.

"And you recently graduated from a four-year college with a degree in marine biology, yes?"

"Yes sir," he repeated.

"How much do you know about seals, Mister Jones?"

"Wha—seals, sir?"

"Yes, Mister Jones," said the captain, as if he were speaking to moron. "Seals. You know, the mammals that are taken around at zoos and trained to balance beach balls on their noses for anchov—"

"I know what seals are, sir." As soon as the words popped out of his mouth, Alfred instantly regretted saying them. Captain McAllister's eyes narrowed, and corners of his lips turned down. It felt as if all the oxygen in the warehouse had been sucked out of the room.

"Are you disrespecting me, Jones?" he growled.

"N-no, sir!" said Alfred, trying to cover up his mistake. "I just—that is, I took a whole three-month course on how to properly care for seals, and I—"

"Perfect," Captain McAllister interrupted, his anger vanishing as quickly as it appeared. He pulled a paper out of the file and scribbled something on it. When he was done, he looked back up at Alfred and asked, "How much do you know about sailing?"

"Um…" Alfred paused for a moment, thinking. "Well, I'm pretty sure that port is right and starboard is left."

"Hm," muttered the captain, and scribbled some more on his paper. "Well, we've already got a crew of experienced sailors, so that shouldn't be a problem…" He continued to mutter to himself as he wrote, until suddenly he stopped and looked Alfred straight in the eye.

"The reason I have called you here, Mister Jones," he said quietly, "is because I am on a mission to catch the rarest kind of seal-like creatures. One that has not been seen in centuries. One that has been reduced to a myth, but is in fact a part of our reality. I am speaking, Mister Jones, about selkies." He paused. "Do you know what selkies are?"

"Selkies?" Alfred repeated. "I don't… think so?"

"Well, that simply won't do," the old man chuckled. "First and foremost, selkies are known to disguise themselves as seals while in the ocean, but when they go on land, they transform into beings that look like men and women—very _attractive_ men and women, to be precise." Captain McAllister was talking faster and faster as he continued, his excitement starting to pull the formality out of his words. "When selkies leave the water they wear their seal pelts wrapped 'round them, but if the pelt's taken away, they must stay with whoever has it whether they wan' to or not. Naturally, this happens more often to females than males. In general, selkies are on the nicer side, though they do tend to be rather promiscuous with both themselves and humans. Also—"

"With all due respect, sir," interrupted Alfred. "If selkies turn into seals in water and turn into people on land, how exactly would we know if any seal we caught, or any person wearing sealskin clothes, was a selkie?"

"I'm glad you asked," said the captain, regaining his composure. "My colleagues and I have created a device that reads the energy levels of living beings. Magical creatures have much higher energy levels than non-magical ones, so any selkies we come across will be quite easily detected. Once we find one, it will be your job, as our resident seal expert, to make sure that our selkie is properly taken care of until we get it to whoever will give us the highest reward for our efforts."

Alfred was quiet as he absorbed all this new information. After several minutes of thoughtful silence, he concluded that Captain McAllister was, without a doubt, absolutely crazy. Riding around in a boat trying to find a creature that didn't exist—which was basically what the captain was proposing—was not exactly the way Alfred planned to spend his time. He'd be better off trying to scrape up a job at the local aquarium.

"I can see that you're starting to have second thoughts," murmured Captain McAllister. "However, I think I know how to convince you."

He pulled out an official-looking document out of the file and handed it to Alfred. "This is your contract," he said. "It explains everything, including how long this trip will be, what equipment you'll need, what to expect from myself and the crew… and, of course, your paycheck, which is discussed down at the bottom."

Alfred took the contract, skimming over the lengthy paragraphs until he reached the part about how much he would be paid. He read it, then read it twice more, just to be sure he wasn't seeing things. According to this contract, he would be paid $25,000 per week for an eight-week trip—that added up to a grand total of $200,000.

Alfred's jaw dropped. If this was real, he would be able to pay off his student loans by the end of the trip. Forget about the aquarium, this was exactly the kind of job he wanted!

"I'll do it," he said, looking back up at the captain.

The old man grinned, showing off two rows of pearly white teeth. "Good choice, Jones," he said. "Now, all you have to do is sign the contract and it will be official."

Alfred took the pen and uncapped it, preparing to seal the deal, until he stopped.

"Actually," he said, "Hold on a sec."

The captain's smile faltered as he asked, "What is it, Mister Jones?"

"It's just, well…" Alfred frowned at the contract. "I just want to know, do I get paid week by week, or at the end of the trip?"

"All employees get paid at the end of the expedition," stated Captain McAllister.

"Well, what happens if something, y'know, goes wrong?" Alfred asked tentatively.

"Nothing will go wrong, Mister Jones."

"I'm not saying that it's gonna happen," he said, backpedalling slightly. "But if there were some hypothetical disaster—like, I dunno, the selkie biting my head off—do I still get paid?"

"If the selkie bites your head off, your family will be given your full pay to compensate for their loss," the captain replied, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.

Alfred nodded, but still did not sign the contract. He could feel the captain's gaze burning holes in his head. The two froze, each waiting for the other to make a move. Finally, the older man's patience gave out.

"Jones," he growled through clenched teeth. "Are you going to sign the bloody thing or not?!"

"Alright, alright, I'm signing it," said Alfred as he scribbled his signature at the bottom of the contract. The captain immediately snatched it up and returned it to the file.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Jones," he said, standing up. "Our expedition starts on July 15th, almost exactly three weeks from now. I expect to see you at the Nauset harbor at 7am sharp. My ship is the _Silver Seal_. She's quite a large lady, the _Seal_ —you can't miss her. However, there's going to be a smaller boat at the harbor to take pick you up and take you to our ship, as the _Silver Seal_ a bit too big to dock in the harbor."

Alfred nodded and stood up to leave, then paused, remembering how the others had waited for the captain to give the all-clear first.

Captain McAllister gave a nod of approval and said, "You are dismissed, Jones."

"Aye aye, Cap'n!" crowed Alfred with an enthusiastic salute, and dashed out of the warehouse. He couldn't wait to tell his family and friends about his new job.

The captain smiled as he watched Alfred leave. The young man seemed quite cocky—a mite too arrogant for his own good, as Cameron would say—but he would soon learn who was really in charge. Indeed, there was a lot he would have to learn if he was to survive the expedition.

 _All in good time,_ he thought to himself. _All in good time._


	2. Last Day Ashore

Finally, after three long weeks of impatiently waiting, the day of departure arrived. Alfred was up by four in the morning—something he had sworn bitterly against since high school—and was on his third cup of coffee by 4:30. He would have woken up the rest of his family, but they had made him promise not to wake them up before five on threat of torture.

Alfred lived in a small seaside house in Plymouth, Massachusetts with his brother Matthew and their adoptive fathers, Arthur and Francis Kirkland-Bonnefoy. Though he was often asked why he chose to live with his family instead of his own apartment, the truth was that Alfred had really missed his family when he went to California for college—that, and bills are a bitch.

Alfred and Matthew were pretty much identical in looks—the only real differences were that Matthew's hair went down to his shoulders and his eyes were tinted slightly purple—but the two were very different in personality. Matthew was much more calm, quiet and level-headed than his twin. While Alfred had gone to study marine biology, his brother majored in psychology, and was training to become a therapist. But despite their differences, the two were as close as siblings could be.

Arthur and Francis were another thing altogether. Arthur often gave off the impression of being a stereotypical grumpy, tea-loving Briton who couldn't cook an edible meal to save his life. However, those who were close to him knew Arthur as a smart man and a caring father, with a caustic sense of humor that was sure to make anyone laugh. Francis, on the other hand, was a cheerful Frenchman who was openly passionate about theatre, painting and culinary arts. He was usually the one to drag Arthur out of the house to go shopping or take a romantic walk by the seashore. The two agreed on a lot of things, but disagreed on even more. They were almost always arguing about this and that; why they had decided to get married was a mystery to most.

Alfred stared at the clock, watching the shorter hand slowly drag itself across the clock face until it reached the five. A few quick coffee-powered leaps up the stairs later he burst into his brother's room, yelling, "Wake up, Mattie! We have to go to Nauset!"

Matthew let out a low grunt, but didn't move.

"Not today, mister!" Alfred said with a grin as he yanked off his brother's blankets. "Come on! You promised you'd see me off the dock!"

Matthew gave a heavy sigh and slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"You gotta go faster than that," said Alfred. "Get up! We need to leave in an hour!"

"Alright, alright, you don't need to shout," he replied with a yawn, dragging himself off the bed and stumbling over to his dresser.

"Okay, making progress. Awesome," said Alfred. "I'm gonna go wake up Dad and Papa."

"Good luck," Matthew muttered, but he was already gone.

He raced down to the end of the hallway to their fathers' bedroom, throwing the door open and opening his mouth to give another wakeup call—only to find both men sitting up in bed, yawning and rubbing their eyes.

"You're up already?" he asked, surprised.

"Of course we're up," grumbled Arthur. "We heard you yelling in Matthew's room like a bloody rooster." He squinted at the clock on his bedside table. "And why do we need to get up so early?" he demanded. "You're supposed to be there at seven, right?"

"Sorry about that," said Alfred. "But you guys take so long to get ready in the morning that I figured I should wake you up extra early."

Arthur sighed, but got out of bed without further complaint. Francis followed suit, saying, "I'm going to take a shower first."

"Oh no you're not," said Arthur. "Your showers alone are going to make us late. You can take one later. I'm taking a shower now."

 _Oh boy, here we go again_ , Alfred thought.

"But _mon cher_ , you could easily take half an hour with the way you insist on meticulously scrubbing every single inch of your body," Francis replied as he started walking toward the small master bathroom.

"That's called personal hygiene," Arthur retorted. "And get out of there! I said I was going to shower now!"

"I said it first," said Francis, who had already started to strip. "Of course, we could take a shower together, if you want—"

"You're wasting time by arguing!" Alfred broke in. "Take a shower or don't, I don't care, but I can't be late for this!"

"You heard him, frog," said Arthur. "Get out of the bathroom!"

" _Non_ , I will not!"

Alfred threw up his hands in defeat and marched out of the room, leaving the pair to sort it out themselves. He went back downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Matthew standing at the stove.

"Pancakes?" he asked hopefully.

"What else?" Matthew replied. "I'm making your favorite: chocolate chip with maple syrup and strawberries."

"Fuck yeah!" Alfred cheered. He quickly grabbed plates, silverware and the syrup bottle and brought them to the dining room. After setting the table, he sat down and began describing the trip to Matthew for the umpteenth time.

"It's gonna be so cool!" he started. "An eight-week-long round-trip from Nauset to Kilronan Harbor in Ireland, and then we're gonna go the rest of the way around Ireland and come back. I can't wait!"

Matthew listened to his brother describe the trip as he had done many times before, until he interrupted him by asking, "Al, is it true that Captain McAllister is… you know… not all there?"

"Oh yeah," said Alfred. "That guy is one crazy motherfucker. He thinks he's gonna catch some magical seal-person and sell it to whoever's willing to pay the most for it!" He laughed. "I just hope he doesn't make me put on a seal tail and try to sell me to a zoo or something."

"But you don't think he'd actually do that, right?" said Matthew hesitantly.

"Nah, I don't think he's _that_ far gone—but then again, I've only met the guy twice, so who knows?"

Matthew didn't say anything. Alfred could tell that he was thinking about all the things that could go wrong over the span of eight weeks.

"I'll be fine, Mattie," he said. "You don't need to worry about me. I'll just be on a boat with some super wealthy nutjob for two months, go to Ireland, and then come home and pay off my student loans."

"I know, I know," his brother said quietly. "But there's something about him that I don't like. The way you described him… I don't know, I just have a bad feeling about this."

Alfred looked at him, then shook his head in mock disbelief. "Man, thanks for the vote of confidence," he laughed. "I feel so much better now that you're sure I'm gonna die."

"I didn't say that!" Matthew began. "I just—"

"Are the pancakes done yet?"

Matthew sighed at the aversion. "Almost."

About ten minutes later Arthur and Francis came downstairs, both having managed to shower without beheading each other. All four of them sat down at the table, Matthew carrying a heavy platter of pancakes in one hand and a bowl of cut strawberries in the other, and the family began to eat.

"Alfred, have you checked your bags?" Arthur asked. "Is there anything you need, anything you might have forgotten?"

"Nope," Alfred replied around a mouthful of pancakes. "I've double- triple- and quadruple-checked. I've got everything."

"Are you sure there's nothing else you need?" Francis asked.

"Absolutely. I packed it all up last night."

Arthur muttered something about always waiting until the last minute, sparking a short argument that, thankfully, gave way to more casual conversation that lasted for the rest of the meal. Breakfast was finished just before six, and after stuffing Alfred's luggage into the trunk of their car, the four piled in and headed off into the sunrise.


	3. Setting Sail

"Right on time, Jones," came the booming voice of Cameron from the dock. He strode over to Alfred, who was walking with his family down the rows, looking for the boat that would take him to the _Silver Seal_. At hearing Cameron's voice, Alfred waved to the man and jogged over, luggage in tow.

"You ready for the expedition, lad?" Cameron asked. He was carrying a clipboard and a pencil, and at his hip was a walkie talkie.

"You bet!" Alfred said with a grin. "I packed all my clothes, some books, and everything else that was on the list you sent me."

"Excellent, excellent," said the older man, clapping Alfred on the back so hard he nearly sent him sprawling. "Captain McAllister will certainly be glad t' hear that."

Alfred nodded, trying hide how much of the wind had been knocked out of him, and asked, "So, where's the _Silver Seal?_ "

"The _Seal?_ Why, she's righ' over there," Cameron replied, making a grand, sweeping gesture behind him. Alfred looked in the direction Cameron was pointing and gasped.

The _Silver Seal_ was one of the biggest ships he had ever seen. Even in the distance it towered over them, hiding them from the light of the rising sun. As Alfred looked down the length of the ship, his astonishment only grew. It seemed to go on and on and on, a nearly endless wall of white, topped with two rows of tinted windows that reflected the water below. The ship had two decks—the top deck was smaller, with two cranes sticking up into the air like spindly arms, while the bottom deck was busy with cargo, equipment, and crew. Above the top deck was the bridge, its curved span of windows gilded with rays of sunlight, while the roof of the bridge was covered with a tangle of antennae and satellite dishes. The words 'Silver Seal' were painted in huge, gray cursive lettering that was edged with metallic silver paint. Alfred suddenly felt very, very small.

"That's it?" he said. "A… a cruise ship?"

"Aye, that she is," Cameron replied. "She was built a cruise ship, but she's no pleasure boat. She had t' be gutted and remodeled inside in order t' meet our needs. Originally, we tried a bunch o' different tankers—we went through a Panamax, New Panamax, Aframax, even a ULCV—but none of 'em were really what we needed. In the end, Captain McAllister bought the _Silver Seal_ and repurposed her for selkie huntin'." Like Captain McAllister, Alfred noticed that Cameron's accent became a lot stronger when he wasn't being serious and professional, as he had been during the interview.

While Arthur, Francis and Matthew asked Cameron about the _Silver Seal_ , Alfred briefly wondered what Captain McAllister and his crew could possibly be carrying that would require such an enormous ship. In the end, he decided not to ask. He'd probably find out anyway, since he would be on the ship for the next eight weeks.

"So… I guess this is it, then," he said softly.

"Looks like it," Matthew agreed.

Alfred turned back to his brother and fathers. For the first time, it really hit him that he wasn't going to see any them for a long time. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, tightening his grip on his luggage.

Suddenly he felt a pair of arms wrap around him and pull him into a tight hug. A moment later he dropped his bags and returned the hug, holding his twin in a tight embrace. After another moment passed, both Arthur and Francis joined them.

"I'll see you guys soon," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

"O-of course you will," said Arthur. "Tell us everything that happens—I want all the details, understand?"

Alfred nodded, and started to pull away from the hug, but before he could let them go he felt Arthur slip something into his pocket and hug him slightly tighter.

"It's a ward," Arthur said in a low voice. "To protect you from harm."

"Dad," Alfred sighed, "I'm a big boy now. I don't need your magic charms anymore. That's what life vests are for."

Arthur, unlike his son, was a staunch believer of magic. Everywhere he went, he saw faeries and sprites that only he could see, and often talked to them when he thought no one else was listening. Occasionally, he could be found drawing sigils around the house or reading aloud from a grimoire about twice as old as himself and nearly as heavy. Although Alfred thought magic in general was ridiculous, he had more or less accepted that there were just things his father did. But at that moment, as he stood mere moments away from what would surely be the greatest adventure of his life, he was not in the mood for dealing with his father's eccentricities.

"I know you think it's silly," said Arthur, "I know you're grown up and you can take care of yourself… Even if you don't want this ward, just… please, keep it for my sake. Just to make me feel better."

It was the slight tremble in Arthur's voice that broke down the last of Alfred's resistance. As subtle as it was, it betrayed how unsure the man was about releasing his son into the world, how he would do anything to keep his family safe from all possible harm, no matter how strange his methods may seem. Alfred, for all his disbelief in magic, simply didn't have the heart to refuse. So he accepted the ward and the kiss on the cheek that came with it, and stepped back to get one last good look at his family.

"I've packed you some snacks for the trip," said Francis. "So if you find the ship's food unbearable, you won't go hungry."

"You won' have t' worry about that," said Cameron with a smile. "We've got an expert cook, as well as a cook-in-training who knows a lotta good Italian recipes. Yer son won' starve on this trip."

Francis nodded in approval, then turned back to Alfred and whispered, "If anything interesting happens over the next eight weeks, you will let me know, won't you?"

"Oh, come _on,_ Papa!" Alfred said with an exaggerated eyeroll. "The most exciting thing that's gonna happen is I might get eaten by a whale."

"You say that now, but you haven't even met the crew," he returned with a wink. "Who knows what will happen? Perhaps you'll meet someone you like."

Alfred let out a groan and covered his reddening face with his hands.

"Alright, I'll stop," Francis laughed, planting a kiss on his son's head. "Stay safe, _mon petit chou. Je t'aime_."

Alfred grumbled some unintelligible complaint, giving his family one last hug before turning back to face Cameron.

"Well, it's been a pleasure meeting ya," said Cameron, addressing Arthur, Francis, and Matthew, "But I'm afraid we'll have t' be on our way. You all set, Jones?"

"Sure am," Alfred replied shakily.

"Good lad. Step righ' this way, th' boat's over there. And don' bother with yer bags, there's a crewman that'll take 'em on another boat an' deliver 'em straight to yer room while I give you a tour of the _Silver Seal_." He pointed farther down the dock, where a little white motorboat sat expectantly.

Alfred nodded, barely taking in this information. He was really leaving. No more goodbyes or well wishes—no going back.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and followed Cameron down the dock and into the waiting boat.

• • • • • • •

The trip across the harbor was short, and within fifteen minutes the little motorboat had pulled up to the side of the waiting ship. Alfred and Cameron sat in the back seat, while the driver—a very tall, brawny man by the name of Ludwig—took them there. Alfred spent about half the ride trying to strike up a conversation with Ludwig, but the man's one-word answers, combined with the constant drone of the motor, made it impossible. After a while of this he finally gave up, contenting himself to watching the waves jump and skip by. They went around the back of the _Silver Seal_ , passing by a pair of motors each nearly the size of their own boat, before Ludwig cut the motor and drifted them over to line up with the cruise ship.

Alfred had felt small back on the dock, looking at the _Silver Seal_ from a distance. That was nothing compared to how utterly miniscule he felt now, with this behemoth just a few yards away.

"Alrigh', now listen up," said Cameron, standing up. "Six big cords with hooks on the end are gonna come down from up there,"—he pointed up to deck, which, from their angle, they couldn't actually see—"and we'll attach 'em to these hooks on the boat,"—he pointed to the bow, stern, and sides where oversized eye hooks had been drilled in—"and once I secure 'em, I'm gonna whistle to the lads up there and they'll lift us up. Any questions?"

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Alfred said. "So what you're saying is, this boat is gonna be picked up _with us in it_ , and take us up there?"

"That is correct," said Ludwig as he gently steered the little boat to keep it aligned.

"But… why?" he asked. "Why would you go to all this trouble to take a smaller boat to get to a bigger boat? Can't you just find a harbor with deeper water to dock at?"

"The captain has ordered us to board this way," Cameron replied.

"Seriously?"

"His orders are our commands," was his answer. "That goes for myself an' the rest of the crew, including _you_. When you get an order, ya best hop to it—no questions, no objections. Understand, Jones?"

Alfred didn't reply. He was staring at the massive hull of the _Silver Seal_ , only half-listening to the older man. How did they manage to pull this motorboat out of the water and onto the ship without pulling the hooks out of the boat? And for that matter, what would happen if the hooks _did_ get pulled out? Would it be one at a time, or would they all come loose at the same time? How high up would they get before that happened? What if—

" _Jones!"_

"What?"

"I said, do you understand?"

"Yeah, I gotcha," he said. "What captain says, goes."

"You gotta start payin' attention, lad," said Cameron. "On this ship, we got no time fer slackers. Yer gonna be up from dawn til dusk, maybe longer if we get a catch a selkie. You need t' be at attention at all times."

"Even when I'm asleep?"

"Watch it, Jones," the older man warned, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Here come the hooks," Ludwig broke in. They all looked up to see a crane jutting out from up on the deck lowering down six metal hooks, each the size of Alfred's outstretched hand. As soon as they were within reaching distance, Cameron and Ludwig immediately set to work, pulling them down and attaching them to the eye hooks on the boat. Alfred tried to follow suit, but ended up just fumbling around with the unwieldy hunk of metal until Ludwig yanked it out of his hand and attached it properly. Alfred stood there for a moment, unsure what to do, then just sat down in embarrassed silence and waited for the others to finish.

A minute later, after all the hooks were secured, Cameron gave a nod to Ludwig, who returned to his seat at the wheel. The older man then put his fingers to his lips and whistled one loud, piercing note, and immediately took his seat. The motorboat lurched forward, then slowly began to rise up into the air.

Alfred felt his stomach twist into a knot. They were already a good six feet above the water, and rising steadily. If he wanted, he could still jump, but the distance to the shore was too far for him to swim.

He felt the weight of Arthur's ward in his pocket, and felt oddly glad that he had it with him.

 _No going back._

He sucked in one last deep breath, fingers digging into the leather seat, and looked up to face whatever was waiting for them on the deck.


End file.
